The Seat (Poetry)

I have a rendezvous set sometime in the future —
a seat awaits me on a hill not far away
and on that seat a plaque in memory
of someone whose name I can’t recall —
a woman who died young, I think.

It was some years ago I found the spot — five, maybe —
and lingered, wondering if she chose it —
if, in life, she had come here to gaze
at trees and fields, get some perspective on
the distant roofs, the uninvolving sky.

I can only speculate on why whoever loved her
placed the seat so high — up near the brow
and just a few short paces from the path —
maybe she walked her dog this way —
climbed the grassy incline, caught her breath,
                                 stopping for a moment...

I haven’t been back — not yet — but often think of that cold seat
perched there, rusting, waiting for me to return —
like some long-standing invitation offered and accepted —
the time scale flexible, my place reserved for me —
its quiet a welcome pool, my pockets full of stones.